


Shortstop

by peepo



Category: Pacific Rim (2013)
Genre: Kid Fic, Little League AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-04
Updated: 2016-11-04
Packaged: 2018-08-28 23:06:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8466436
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peepo/pseuds/peepo
Summary: “Hi,” Newt squeaks, “I’m Newt!”The boy gapes speechlessly for a moment, before saying, “Newt, please get off me.”  
Little League AU, Newton and Hermann are about nine in this fic





	

**Author's Note:**

> Pretend everyone is speaking German

       There’s a boy who comes to Newt’s home games. He always sits on the top left end of the farthest left bleacher, nudged up right next to the fence. He never cheers, never boos. He doesn’t really do anything but read his books. Sometimes, when something  _ really  _ exciting happens in the game, he’ll look up to watch, but then goes straight back to reading as soon as the play is over. 

       As  _ boring  _ as the boy is, Newt can’t help but watch him from the dugout. At first his teammates snickered and made fun of him, but eventually they got bored of that, and found more interest in sticking cups to each other’s hats with bubblegum. 

       The opposing team's next batter is up, and Newt doesn’t have time to think of the boy on the bleachers now, he needs to  _ focus _ . Playing shortstop is an important job, and he needs to be ready. 

       The boy swings once--strike. Swings twice--foul. Swings a third time, and hits! The ball’s heading straight between second and third, right where Newt is! It’s slowing down too much for left field to get it, so Newt runs back. It hits the ground and rolls, everyone is moving. The kid sitting at first is running to second, and the batter is running to first. Running back, Newt stumbles onto his butt, smearing his red pants in dirt. He reaches his left hand behind him, grabs the ball, and chucks as hard as he can at the second baseman. 

       Just as the boy running to second is about to touch the base, Newt’s teammate at second catches it, and the boy’s out! Newt starts to stand and watches as his teammate throws the ball to first. The boy at first reaches and catches it! He stretches to tag the boy before he can touch first.

       The crowd roars! Two outs in one play! That ends the seventh inning! Two more to go. 

 

* * *

 

 

       The game ends with Newts team winning four-to-two. Their third win of the season! The volunteer parents are taking the team out to pizza. In the midst of all the boys packing up and the crowd on the bleachers dispersing, Newt turns to search for the boy on the bleachers. 

       He’s still there, idly watching the crowd with his chin in his palm. Newt makes a decision then. 

       He swallows a big gulp of air and holds it in his lungs, like the pressure his chest is filling him with gaseous courage. Slinging his duffle bag over his shoulder, he starts making his way to the bleachers. 

       The boy is zoning out, and doesn’t seem to notice Newt walking up towards him. Newt’s heart is pounding in his chest and the roar of parents and players fades behind the heartbeat in-between his ears. 

       He’s almost to the top row of the bleachers. He’s  _ so close  _ to the boy, this is the closest they’ve ever been. If he reached out he could touch him! 

       Just as Newt’s about to speak, his feet stumble and he starts to trip. He doesn’t have much balance up there on the bleachers, especially with the weight of the duffle on his back. 

       Tumbling forward with a wordless screech, Newt clenches his eyes closed, willing HaShem to take him away, anywhere but here. Take him to Russia, or Hell, or the middle of the ocean! Anywhere but on the top left end of the farthest left bleacher in Ramon park, Berlin, Germany.

       Newt isn’t sure how long his eyes are closed, waiting for some greater being to take him. He’s broken out of his prayer when someone, the boy he’s wanted to talk to all season, the boy he tripped onto and is probably being crushed by Newt right now mutters, “Um. Excuse me.” 

       Newt’s face is smooshed into the boy's chest. He can hear a super fast heartbeat, whether it’s his own or the boys, he can’t tell. 

       Slowly, he looks up. The boy’s face, red from the ears down, is mere inches away from his own. 

       “Hi,” Newt squeaks, “I’m Newt!”

       The boy gapes speechlessly for a moment, before saying, “Newt, please get off me.”  

       Immediately, Newt jumps up, swaying before catching himself. His face burns, everything burns. He’s stuttering out an apology, choking on his own tongue and looking around for his uncle. Maybe his uncle can save him. He’s about to bolt away, hide in his uncle's truck and forget this ever happened when a soft--but strong--hand grabs his own. 

       “I’m Hermann,” the boy,  _ Hermann _ , says. Avoiding looking into Hermann’s face, Newt shakes his hand and sits next to him. 

       Newt stares at his cleats, smudged with orange dirt. “I’m Newt.”

       “I know. You already said that.”

       Newt looks up, red-faced and ready to apologize again, when he sees Hermann is smirking. Smirking! Borderline smiling, Newt made the boy he likes almost smile! 

       “Yeah I, I guess I did?” Newt smiles back, “I’ve seen you at a  lot at the games, uh,” he stutters, what did he even come up here to say to Hermann? 

       “Yes, my sister, Karla, she’s on your team.” Hermann says, waving in the general direction of the field. 

       “Oh. Oh! She’s a really great pitcher!” 

       “I know,” Hermann smirks again, almost proudly. 

       The two boys sit there quietly for a moment, the noises of parents and kids echoing around the windy evening park. 

       “I have to go, my team, we’re going for pizza. Next week, do you want to hang out a bit, before the game? Maybe we can play on the swings, or-” 

       Hermann kisses Newt on the cheek, and Newt’s rambling is cut short. His breath hitches and his heart stops. Electricity sparks from where Hermann’s lips are touching his cheek, and Newt wonders if this is how he’ll die. Death by heart failure, from his first kiss on the cheek.

       The kiss ends before he dies, and Newt doesn’t know if that’s a good thing or bad. 

       “I’d like that.” Hermann says. He stands, grabbing his cane for support, and carefully walks down the bleachers, book in hand. 

       Newt watches him go, open mouthed. Once he reaches the bottom, Hermann waves goodbye, and walks toward the parking lot to wait for his parents.  

 

 


End file.
